


Night Out

by E350tb



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, College, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Nonbinary Character, Police Brutality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E350tb/pseuds/E350tb
Summary: Six weeks into college, Connie and Steven are invited out by the Cool Kids, Sadie and Lars to catch up. Steven pursuades Connie to take a night off from her political science course to meet their old friends once more.Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe
Comments: 60
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a venty one, but I think you might like it.

**Chapter One**

_i wish the real world would just stop hassling me_

**_4pm_ **

The University of Middlesex was, as far as universities went, rather desirable, with it’s red-brick buildings, wide and leafy avenues and long, storied history. It’s political science program was second to none, save perhaps the even older universities of Cambridge and Hull. The new, state of the art Spiro Agnew Lecture Hall, built from a significant donation by the former President’s estate, stood out like a sore thumb amidst the Ivy League splendour, but it was spacious and comfortable; a good thing, considering just how many students were crammed into it.

Connie Maheswaran was six weeks into Introduction to Political Science, and she found it something of an _adjustment_. 

The main professor - there were two - was a bald man who looked more like a CEO than a lecturer. He seemed to have far greater faith in the maturity of his cohort than was perhaps deserved; on the first day, he’d invited the class to submit their definitions of political science on a virtual survey, an activity that ended with the words ‘PENIS’ and ‘STALIN DID NOTHING WRONG’ emblazoned on the screen behind him in giant letters. He definitely knew what he was talking about, but considering he was dealing with a class of five hundred students, it was hard to make any form of connection to him. The other professor was more laid back, and was taken to tweed jackets, button-down shirts and Simpsons memes in his powerpoints.

Assignments were doable; she could just about get her head around the quizzes and essays, but the first few marks had come back, and well… 

Ah well, early days. She’d get her groove soon.

There were few anchors to Delmarva in Middlesex, aside from the weekly call to her parents and the little apartment she shared with Steven. The most familiar fixtures were the big chain restaurants, the kind her mother had always hated. The other students all spoke differently; some of them, to be unkind, were more than a little stuck up.

“...he dropped Pol Sci for History,” one of her classmates, Mandy, was saying as they filed out of the theatre at the end of a long lecture. “ _History_. You just don’t make a good career out of history.”

“He said he couldn’t keep up with it,” shrugged another classmate, a tall one named Cam. “Said he’d had a nervous breakdown. And I don’t mean to be an asshole, but if he thinks _this_ is hard…”

“...might as well apply for McSanders right now, because he ain’t goin’ higher then that,” snorted Mandy.

Connie grimace as they stepped out the door into the foyer, trying to find a way to squeeze past them. She brushed Mandy’s shoulder slightly, not enough to hurt her, but just enough to attract her attention.

“Oh, Carley!” exclaimed Mandy, clapping her hands together.

“Connie,” sighed Connie. “Look, I’ve-”

“What do you think?” asked Mandy. “Dropping PolSci for History? Pretty dumb, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” muttered Connie.

“See, she gets it,” nodded Cam. “Always took you for a smart one, Con.”

“Connie.”

“Mhm,” said Cam. “Political Science and Business. That’s where the real money is. People like… what’s his name, Leon? They’re gonna be the ones working for us.”

Connie fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” she said. “Look, I’ve gotta get my bus, I’ll talk to you later.”

It was a lie - her apartment was five minutes walk away - but Mandy and Cam bought it, giving her a lazy wave before walking off in the other direction.

Connie stepped out of the building onto the concrete plaza outside. It was still quite busy, but the day’s main rush had ended - mostly there were just PolSci students milling about, a few patrons at the book shop across the way, and a table manned by the Syndicalist Alternative - they were positioned under a tree by the main footpath to the road, a big sign reading ‘NO DRILLING IN OUR SEAS’ positioned in front of them.

Connie had spoken to them earlier, and signed their petition, but there was a new person manning the table now - a man with a beanie and a beard, enthusiastically calling at anyone who passed. As she headed off towards her apartment, Connie made a fateful error - she walked just a little too close.

“Hey, you want to talk about the environment?” the man exclaimed.

Connie jumped and came to a halt.

“Uh-um, no, sorry, I’m in a-”

“The state governor in Delmarva gave the DALV Conglomerate permission to drill offshore,” said the man, completely ignoring her response. “We’re sending him a petition demanding he protect our underwater wildlife and divest from fossil fuels immediately.”

“I know, I signed it-”

“So how about you sign?” The man grinned. “Give that hick state a sign that we won’t be dragged back to the fifties by them, huh?”

Connie narrowed her eyes.

“I’m _from_ Delmarva.”

The man blinked.

“I’m not talking about _you_ ,” he said. “I-I’m talking about, you know, all the racists and… a-and the oil drillers, a-and - look, why don’t you just sign, huh? Just, just put your name down.”

“I already signed,” grunted Connie, turning around, “I’ll…”

“Oh, I see,” sniffed the man. “Well, if you don’t _want_ to save the world, fine.”

Connie rolled her eyes as she picked up her pace. She heard a shout of “ _Reactionary!_ ” behind her, but when she turned back, he was already talking to someone else.

“ _Reactionary?_ ” Connie scoffed under her breath. “Yeah, I saved the Earth when you were still in middle school, jerk.”

The rest of the walk home was uneventful - she lived a little way off campus in a little apartment paid for by ‘Greg money’ (the man had insisted in paying the rent, no matter how much both she and Steven had told him not to.) It wasn’t a tall building - it had been converted from an old corporate tower from the 1930s, and was about seven storeys high. She lived on the fourth floor, in a room with a view over the small Middlesex Park. They had one bedroom, a bathroom, and a combined kitchen/living room suite. It was more than enough for a young college couple.

Steven wasn’t there when she got home - his part-time shift at the bakery finished at about the same time as her PolSci class, but it was a longer trek home, so he normally came in five minutes after her. She walked over to the pantry, pulled out a protein bar, and rummaged through her bag for her textbook. She trudged on to the couch, planting herself down and opening the book up to ‘Chapter Thirteen: Game Theory and Democratic Politics.”

“How many chapters on game theory do we need?” she whispered.

She flipped ahead to the next chapter - “Advanced Game Theory.”

“Argh!” She planted the textbook down next to her and ran a hand through her hair.

As she did so, the door creaked open. Steven Universe strode in - taller and hairier than he had been in his days in Beach City, but otherwise the same old lovable friend she’d always known. He wore a pink faux-leather jacket, with a pansexual pin on one side and an enby one on the other, with a white star shirt and khakis. He looked more like a surfer than a college student, and he’d have gotten a lot of side-eyes in her PolSci class, but he seemed to fit in among his fellow music and art history majors, and that’s what mattered.

“Hey Connie!” he said, grinning the grin of someone who had come up with a _plan_.

Connie bristled. Normally she liked Steven’s plans, but today she needed to cram. If she got another mark like her last one… well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Hey Steven,” said Connie. “I need to study for my next essay…”

“That’s in four weeks, isn’t it?” asked Steven.

“Yes, but it’s a dense subject, and I really need to focus all my energy on it,” replied Connie. “Plus I have to juggle Introduction to IR and Linguistics, so…”

She shrugged.

“You know,” she said, sighing. “It’s just a busy time.”

“You… can’t take one night off?” asked Steven.

Connie shook her head.

“It’s just…” Steven reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Jenny sent me a message. She’s getting the old gang back together tonight, and she was wondering if we’d like to come? It’s just dinner and a bit of hanging out, nothing to…”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” replied Connie. “But you have…”

“But Sadie and Lars will be there!” exclaimed Steven. “And Buck and Sour Cream and Kiki! We haven’t all been together in… I can’t remember how long!”

“Buck and the Cool Kids were really more _your_ friends, weren’t they?” Connie raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but you know Sadie and Lars, and we _dated_ Kiki that one time!”

“Yeah, as _Stevonnie_. And it got confusing and uncomfortable.”

“...but still.”

“Sorry, Steven,” said Connie, “But the answer is no.”

Steven walked over to her, frowning. Connie pursed her lips.

 _No. Don’t you_ dare.

“It would mean a lot to me,” he said, his eyes widening.

 _Universe, do_ not _do this._

“And it’s only for one night,” he continued. “C’mon…”

_Oh no, here it comes._

Steven pressed his hands together, his face falling into a frown as his eyes fell into the saddest puppy-dog expression. Connie could swear he could hear him whimpering like a sad hound.

“Please?”

Connie said nothing. He _always_ did this, she thought; he knew, _knew_ that she couldn’t say no to that face. Even looking at it out of the corner of her eye as she pointedly turned away, she felt her lips fighting to turn upwards. He _knew_ , damn it, he knew exactly what he was doing, and the worst part was, it always worked.

She pinched the bridge of her nose - as much to prevent herself from giggling at Steven’s exaggerated expression than anything.

“ _...fiiiine._ ”

Steven grinned.

“Thank you!’ he exclaimed.

He leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. Connie blushed, a smile breaking out onto her face.

“But just one night, okay?” she qualified. “After that I’ve really gotta cram.”

“Of course!” replied Steven. “I love you, Connie!”

Connie rolled her eyes. “I love you too, you evil, _evil_ … when are they coming?”

“Five-thirty,” said Steven. “You wanna get changed or…”

“No,” replied Connie, getting up. “But I do wanna shower.”

She walked over to the bathroom door, pointedly ignoring Steven’s little victory dance. Her textbook lay on the couch, yet it remained fresh in her mind as she undressed and climbed into the shower.

It wasn’t going to be forgotten as easily as she might like.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_there's no time to cry, happy, happy_

**_5pm_ **

Steven gathered a clean pair of clothes, tucking them under his arm as he headed towards the shower. Connie had gotten out now - she sat on the couch, reading a book, the five o’clock news playing quietly on the TV. Steven stopped, leaning over to see what she was reading.

“The prisoner’s dilemma?” he quizzed, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds familiar.”

“It’s nothing about being locked up on Homeworld,” Connie replied, smirking.

“Shoot,” said Steven. “Guess that’s my PolSci career over before it started.”

“You’re not missing much,” Connie snorted.

Steven frowned.

“You’re not enjoying it?” he asked.

“No, no, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that!” replied Connie. “I just… y’know… I think you’d prefer what you’re doing now.”

Steven narrowed his eyes.

“You sure?”

Connie turned to him and smiled.

“I’m sure,” she replied. “Go on and have your shower, Steven.”

Hesitantly, Steven turned around, heading to the bathroom once more.

Steven had a very specific shower regime. Before he undressed and turned the shower on, he’d set up an old speaker he’d bought second-hand at a car boot sale, sync it to his phone, and put his ‘chill’ playlist on shuffle. He’d leave it playing on the sink, undressed, and climbed in, setting the temperature to _warm_ , but not _hot_. (He’d once climbed into the shower with Connie, and by his reaction you’d have thought she’d coated him in boiling tar.)

He had a specific pattern that he never deviated from in the shower - he washed his body first, then his hair. When that was done, with his face nice and damp, he shaved. Technically he could shapeshift away any facial hair, but shaving made him feel more human. Once that was done, he took a while to close his eyes and soak in the warm water for the remaining duration of whichever song; then, without further ceremony, he’d step out and turn the shower off.

After that he dried - first his body with the towel, and then his hair with the hairdryer. He’d brush his teeth, do his thick ponytail back up, and get dressed. Then, fully cleaned and refreshed, he’d step out to do whatever he needed to do.

Today was no exception, and he was just stepping out the door, fresh and reinvigorated, when his phone beeped. He smiled, pulling it out of his pocket and checking it.

_Jenny: we’re here. which room are you?_

Steven tapped a reply.

_Steven: 214_

Jenny replied with a thumbs up, and Steven grinned.

“Jenny’s coming up,” he called over to Connie.

Connie sat for a moment, head still in her textbook. With a deep breath, she set it to one side, standing up and heading over to the door. She took another deep breath, ran her hands through her hair, and smiled.

“Night off, huh?” she said.

“It’ll be good for us,” nodded Steven.

There was a knock at the door - Steven strolled over and opened it.

“Jenny!” he exclaimed.

Jenny grinned.

“Hey Steven!”

Jenny Pizza hadn’t changed too much; maybe she was a little taller. She wore a red bandana around her neck (hadn’t he seen that at the concert when Spinel attacked?) and a black tank top with shorts, covered by a ratty old army surplus jacket. Steven wasn’t too surprised - he had had a Nyoom call with her last week, and she’d been wearing something similar - but there was a sense of nostalgia in seeing his old friend in person.

Steven threw out his arms and pulled her into a hug, grinning - Jenny laughed and hugged back, and sudden realisation filled him; he was _taller_ than her. Not hugely taller, only a few inches, but still taller. The thought was met with a strange sense of vertigo as he stepped back, but he didn’t think she noticed his slight stumble.

“When’d you get taller?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Very recently,” replied Steven. “It’s all the stretches I do at the gym, every day.”

“You don’t go to the gym, Steven,” said Connie, stepping up. She too was taller than Jenny - and Steven for that matter. It seemed to be a constant - no matter how many (non magical) growth spurts he had, she always managed to overtake him.

“You wanna head down?” asked Jenny. “We’re gonna take the subway into the city. Figured that’d be better than trying to get Buck’s Folkswagon through traffic.”

“Ooh, he brought his new van?” exclaimed Steven.

“New van?” asked Connie.

“Yeah, he bought one of them hippie vans from the used car place near his med school,” replied Jenny as they stepped out the door, Steven dutifully locking it behind him. “Honestly it’s kinda falling apart, but he loves the thing. I mean, he looks like he does, you know him.”

She put on her most stoic face.

“Buck is pleased with this,” she said flatly as they walked into the elevator.

Connie chuckled, and Steven rubbed his arm, smirking ever so slightly. He didn’t naturally like making fun of people, even in good humour.

“So how’s the phone jacket business going?” asked Connie.

Steven inhaled through his teeth, and Connie frowned.

“Did… did I say…”

Jenny shrugged.

“It’s… taking a while to start up,” she said. “I dunno, it took an age to get the store set up on Espy, and PayFriend had problems, and now I’m having trouble getting people to buy them…” She smiled. “It’s early days, I’ll get there.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Oh, nearly forgot, did Steven tell you about Shep and Sadie?” she asked.

“I haven’t really had time,” mused Steven.

“Why, what happened?” asked Connie. “Did they break up? Did Shep die? Did…”

“It’s fine!” Jenny laughed. “It’s fine, they’re just… they’re just taking a break. Like, they’re still friends, and they talk all the time, it’s just…”

She shrugged.

“Y’know,” she said. “ _Stuff._ ”

“Has she told you what stuff?” asked Steven.

There was a _ding_ and the elevator came to a stop.

“Well, let’s go meet the gang!” exclaimed Jenny as the doors opened, stepping out into the lobby.

Steven and Connie exchanged a glance and followed her.

The days were getting longer, and the sun was still out when they stepped out onto the street. A little way down the street, having just found a spot before the tow zone, was a rusty red Folkswagon minibus, the faded words ‘ _Honest Dave’s _____ Rentals_ ’ just about legible on the side. Steven assumed it meant car rentals, but the gap was just long enough to call that into question.

Buck Dewey stood next to it, and Steven did a double-take. Unlike Jenny, he hadn’t seen him in a while (Buck rebelled against Nyoom, because apparently it sent your data to the government.) He had a moustache and goatee now, and wore a baggy tie dye t-shirt over ripped jeans and old black boots. He looked up and smiled at Steven and Connie, making a finger guns gesture towards them.

“Bingo bongo, Steven and Connie.”

“You stole that from Lars,” said Steven, wagging his finger in mock disapproval.

“If there’s a better greeting, I haven’t found it,” replied Buck.

He pointed down the street with his thumb.

“The others went to the 7/12 near the subway station,” he said. “I said we’d meet them there.”

“How’s med school treating you?” asked Steven as they started to walk.

Buck shrugged.

“It’s a thing,” he replied. “How’s college?”

“It’s nice,” replied Steven. “But I’m really just here for the experience.”

“I feel that,” nodded Buck. “How about you, Connie?”

“Oh, it’s…” Connie seemed to hesitate for just a second before beaming. “...it’s everything I wanted! I’m getting good grades, meeting interesting people, y’know, it’s perfect!”

“Nice.” Buck gave her a thumbs up.

As they walked on, Buck and Jenny taking the lead, Steven leaned over and whispered to her girlfriend.

“You’ve made friends?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s more like work colleagues,” replied Connie. “‘Cause, you know, PolSci’s a lot like work, I guess.”

She walked on, leaving a frowning Steven walking slightly behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surely everyone is happy and put together right now


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_will i see you tonight, on a downtown train_

**_6pm_ **

Back in Beach City, Sour Cream believed that nobody really thought he was that deep of a person. He was the one who liked DJing and held raves - the third wheel of Buck and Jenny. One might unkindly wonder if much would be different if he didn’t exist - if Marty and Vidalia had never had that thing in Greg’s van that night. That had come up in discussion once with the councilor at high school, and he’d rubbed his beard and said, “Yes, I suppose things would be strange if Steven didn’t exist.”

The high school counselor hadn’t been terribly good at his job.

The Sour Cream who had spent his days DJing and hanging out with his best friends had, in many ways, changed little.

In many others, they had changed a lot.

They were standing outside the 7/12, a slurpee in one hand and their phone in the other, checking their text messages for anything from B & C Terwilliger’s, a club in the Bronx where they’d applied to DJ. As they were about to give up, a message popped through.

_Apologies, you’re not quite our kind of entertainer. Ta!_

Sour Cream muttered and put their phone back in their jacket pocket. If they were honest, they’d expected this; the owners seemed uptight (with a bit of a serial killer vibe, if they were frank). But they needed work, and work only came from applying everywhere they could.

“Yo, SC, look who we found!”

Sour Cream looked up as Jenny and Buck strode over, Steven and Connie trailing behind them. Sour Cream grinned and waved.

“Hey Steven, hey Connie!” they called.

Connie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wow, Sour Cream, you look…”

Sour Cream felt their heart fall slightly. “Different?”

Connie smiled. “ _Good._ ”

Sour Cream’s smile returned.

They still wore the hoodie - they weren’t really Sour Cream without it - but underneath it wore a neon pink top and tight, shiny orange pants. They wore glowing green earrings, and there was a touch of red lipstick on their face.

“Steven told me you came out,” said Connie. “Uh, that wasn’t an invasion of privacy or…”

“Nah.” Sour Cream shrugged. “I don’t care who knows. The gender binary is for losers anyway.”

“Heck yeah.” Steven grinned. “Fu-udge your gender binary!”

“ _Fudge?_ ” Jenny nudged him playfully.

“Jenny, Steven’s mouth is too sweet and innocent to be corrupted by our fuck words,” said Buck.

Steven laughed. “It’s good to see you all back together!”

“Amen to that,” nodded Sour Cream. “We haven’t been in the same place since… Onion’s high school grad?”

“Man, he gave one heck of a valedictorian speech,” said Jenny.

“That was months ago,” said Steven, his mouth thinning. “You haven’t been together since then?”

“Life, bro,” said Buck. “Life.”

“So, where’s the other three?” asked Jenny.

“They found out you can buy subway tickets there, so Lars is trying to work the machine,” replied Sour Cream. “He’s not very good at it.”

A loud shout came from inside the 7/12.

“ _No! We do_ not _want to go to Oak Grove!_ ”

Connie chuckled. “Better go in and save him again, huh?”

“Sounds like it,” nodded Steven, taking her hand and leading her inside.

* * *

Subway stations had a very unique smell, Sour Cream thought. It was hard to describe - a combination of metal and oil, mixed with a slight pinch of sweat and garbage. They were always warmer than the surface, at least when they rode them, and there was a stillness in the air as they walked down the ramp to the Boston-bound platform. There it remained still, until suddenly a gust began to pick up from the tunnel at the end of the platform.

Then, screeching and roaring, in came the train, it’s paint peeling and it’s windows dusty and graffitied. The brakes squealed loudly as it slid to a halt, and with a tired sigh the doors opened. Without a word, a mass of humanity alighted and boarded with practiced indifference, never making eye contact with another soul. Office workers blearily trudged onto the concrete platform, their white shirts and dull jackets sinking into the beige and grey background of the station.

If anyone noticed the pastel pink man walking into the carriage, they tried as hard as they could not to show it.

Sour Cream was the last on the train - by now, Steven and Connie were deep in conversation about Lars’ latest adventures, Sadie following behind but not necessarily joining the conversation. Lars had exchanged his pirate’s uniform for a ratty old biker jacket and slacks, his hands deep in his pockets. Sadie, on the other hand, wore about the same thing she’d been wearing at the Off Color’s graduation, so long ago. Sour Cream supposed some things didn’t change.

Kiki settled down on a window seat - she looked like she was still wearing her jogging outfit - a tank top and shorts - and Sour Cream wondered if she’d come to the gathering at short notice. Jenny sat down next to her, and Buck at the end. Sour Cream was content to hold the rail as the door slid shut, and the train shuddered and began to move.

Sour Cream leaned against the rail and glanced down the train. For the briefest moment, they caught a businessman, middle-aged and greying, gazing over his newspaper at the carriage’s newest occupants. His mouth was thin as a line, and his brow was furrowed - his nose wrinkled and turned up, as if he had smelt something foul.

He cleared his throat and returned to his newspaper.

Sour Cream shook their head, looking away and listening to the squeaking and squealing of old metal wheels on old metal tracks.

“Hey, Sour Cream.”

Sour Cream glanced at Buck.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna hold hands?” asked Buck.

Sour Cream raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking me on a date?” he asked.

“No,” replied Buck. “I just want to piss off that dude with the newspaper.”

Sour Cream glanced back at the man. He was still reading his paper, but they could just about see the crease lines where he was holding it just a little _too_ hard. Sour Cream smirked, but shook their head.

“Nah,” they replied.

Buck nodded.

“That’s cool.”

He shifted in his seat to face his friend.

“I meant to tell you,” he said. “I picked up some Eastern European trance from a guy at the gas station. I’ll give it to you when we get back to the van.”

“Gas station?” quizzed Sour Cream. “How do you know people at a gas station?”

“I work there part time,” Buck shrugged. “Gotta pay them med school bills.”

The train rattled, and Sour Cream held a little more tightly to the rail.

“So I’m thinking of getting some more sound files,” they said. “There’s a big pack I’m eying up, but it costs $300. I swear, royalties these days are getting nuts.”

“You getting shifts at the rink?”

Sour Cream shrugged.

“Not since the new owner bought it,” they replied. “They’re more of a… just play rock and nothing else kind of guy.”

“Drag.” Buck shook his head. “Anyone put up a good word for you?”

“Some of the Little Homeworld gems,” replied Sour Cream. “Bismuth said something too. Pearl… honestly, I don’t think Pearl paid much attention to who was DJing, you know?”

“Yeah, sounds like Pearl.”

Sour Cream turned around. Steven had gotten up and was leaning on the next rail along, fiddling with his phone.

“Whoa, sorry, shouldn’t be badmouthing your…” Sour Cream began.

“It’s not bad mouthing,” replied Steven, offering them a smile. “Sometimes she’s just… oblivious about human things. She tries a lot more than she used to, but if you’ve had a habit for five thousand years, it’s hard to shake.”

“You talk to your folks much?” asked Buck.

“Yeah,” replied Steven. “Mostly dad. Pearl called every day to start with, but she’s scaled it back to every week. Garnet usually calls at least once every two weeks - I don’t think she likes phone calls much.”

“What about Amethyst?” asked Sour Cream.

“Amethyst is more like a sister than a parent,” replied Steven. “But yeah, we talk a bunch at… well, we talk. It’s nice.”

“I still live with mom,” said Sour Cream. “You’d think it’d be suffocating, but… it’s stable, you know? And mom and Yellowdad are pretty supportive, even though I can’t find a steady DJ job, so I’m lucky. I think any other parents would’ve told me to just get work in a Talmart by now.”

“Ugh, retail.” Steven shuddered. “How about you, Buck? Is your dad…”

“So, where are we eating, Steven?”

Buck’s interruption was casual but final, and Steven seemed to stumble over his words.

“I-um… well, it’s a bit mainstream, but there’s a Smooth Jazz Cafe I’m thinking of,” replied Steven. “They’re expensive, but I’m gonna pay so that’s not a problem.”

“Steven, we can-”

“Nope, already decided, I’m paying.” Steven beamed, and Buck smirked.

“Steven, you are an evil genius.”

“I know.”

Screeching filled the carriage, and Sour Cream felt the train begin to slow. Steven put his phone back in his pocket, motioning towards the door - their stop.

Sour Cream stood back as the train sailed to a stop, the doors creaking open once more. They let a few people out first before following, but before they could get through they felt themself roughly bumped to the side - the businessman barrelled through the door and towards the elevators before they could say a word.

Sour Cream rolled their eyes and stepped out onto the platform. It was not the first or the worst such interaction they’d experienced, and they were determined that it would not ruin the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_you know I've seen a lot of what the world can do and it's breaking my heart in two_

**_7pm_ **

Fats McGonagall had been a jazz musician in the 1940s. His statue now stood outside the city’s branch of the Smooth Jazz Cafe, who claimed to have opened their establishment on the site of his birth home.

He was the son of a bricklayer and a seamstress, and had taught himself to play the saxophone after working day and night in the railroad yards to pay for one. As a young man, he’d set himself up in the harbour and played for all who would listen. He believed he’d go far; sign a deal and move on to Empire City or New Orleans, and from there write his name in the stars.

There was just one problem - he was _terrible._

He never knew that, of course - in his mind, Fats McGonagall was the greatest jazz musician who had ever lived. In reality, it was hard to say he was off-key because nobody could tell what key he was meant to be playing at all. A music critic wrote in the paper that he compared unfavourably with ‘a chorus of dying cats, car horns and circular saws;’ he was being kind. As for his singing… let’s just say it was merciful that he considered himself more a musician than a vocalist.

And yet, despite his utter lack of talent, Boston loved him. Children would throw nickels in his hat whenever they could, and dockworkers would gather round to listen to his ‘music’ and banter with him. Journalists constantly asked him for his opinions on matters of music, and when he was arrested for vagrancy one day in 1944, the mayor personally pardoned him and awarded him the keys to the city - and further required that all policemen salute him. When he died on the Boston docks in 1951, thousands attended his funeral.

He remained well loved in the present, a beloved cult figure on par with Emperor Norton. He was a testament to the maxim that one will be better remembered for being historically bad than for being competent.

Sadie didn’t really know the story of Fats McGonagall - she passed the statue without paying it much mind. She walked inside with the rest of the group, heading up to the ‘please wait to be seated’ sign and waiting there.

“You sure you wanna eat here, Steven?” she asked. “It’s a bit expensive?”

“Hey, it’s fine, I can buy.” Steven smiled as he took out his wallet. “Besides, the menu here’s pretty good, and they’ve been super understanding about allergies and not having meat and stuff when I’ve been here before.”

“You still vegan?” asked Jenny.

Steven shook his head. “Vegetarian,” he replied. “I’m still okay with eggs and dairy and stuff.”

“You gotta go full vegan,” said Buck, completely straight-faced. “Then you’d be Vegan Steven. It would be amazing.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Steven chuckled.

“I dunno,” mused Sour Cream. “Life without chicken nuggets just isn’t worth living.”

“There’s vegan substitutes,” said Buck.

“Yeah, but… y’know.”

Before Buck could say anymore, a waiter bounced up to them - a gentleman with shoulder-length, swept back black hair and a beard, clad in a Smooth Jazz t-shirt and jeans. He clapped his hands together - the sound made Sadie jump - and began to speak.

“Hey guys,” he said in an inexplicable Aotearoa accent, “Thanks for coming, do you have a reservation?”

“Yep.” Steven handed him his phone.

“...Steven Universe!” he nodded. “I’ve seen you here before, I think!”

“No you haven’t,” said Steven, smiling.

“You were with a guy with cornrows and a sweatshirt?”

“I’ve never met anyone like that in my life.”

“Right, sorry, my mistake!” The waiter held his hands up. “I try to remember everyone who comes through here, but sometimes it’s just… _whoosh_ , right over my head.” He laughed, and Steven awkwardly gave him a forced chuckle.

He quickly checked his tablet - “Yep, you’re upstairs!” - and led the group up to the top floor to a spot by the window. Barely had they sat down when he was asking for drinks.

“I’ll have water,” replied Steven. “Connie, you want your…”

“I’ll have a mojito,” said Connie.

Steven tilted his head. 

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Connie nodded, shooting him a smile. “I feel like a cocktail tonight.”

Steven shrugged and nodded.

The others ordered - mostly light or non-alcoholic drinks, and Sadie went for a cola - and the waiter sprung off to get them, giving them time to look at the menu.

“What’re you thinking?” Connie leaned over as she looked over one of the menus. “I’m just gonna have something light, you know?”

Sadie nodded.

“Same,” she replied.

“A lot of these seem really big though,” mused Connie. “And they don’t really have a ‘small’ menu, you know? Let me think about what has the most protein…”

Sadie raised an eyebrow. 

“Does that really matter?”

Connie nodded.

“I have to keep my strength up,” she replied. “Besides, I know how mom feels about transfats…”

“Your mom’s not here though,” interrupted Sadie. “And it’s just one night? What do _you_ want?”

Connie clicked her teeth.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I… guess one of these salads might be good? I don’t know…”

She leaned back over, and Sadie returned to her own menu.

Before long, the waiter waltzed back with drinks, handing them out as he whistled a tune. He immediately whipped out a notebook.

“Okay guys, are we ready to order?” he asked.

Steven glanced around, and after a few nods, started.

“I’ll have the…”

Sadie tuned out as he picked out his order, taking a small sip of her cola. _Huh_ , she thought. _Tastes a bit weird… maybe it’s from tap?_ She didn’t pay it much mind, grabbing a fork from the tub of cutlery and fiddling absently with it as she waited.

“And for the lady at the back?”

Sadie perked up - the waiter was looking at her.

“Oh, I’ll have the Ultimate Jazz Burger,” she said. “Hold the onions.”

For a moment, she could have sworn she’d seen the expression in his eyes change, ever so slightly - before she could really register it, he was smiling once more.

“Sure, good choice!” he said brightly. “Anything else?”

She took a quick glance at the menu.

“Uh, hold the salad too,” she added. “I don’t like the red lettuce.”

Again, that briefest… was it a glance? A side-eye? She couldn’t tell, and it was gone in an instant.

“No problemo!” the man nodded. “Alright, there’ll be a twenty minute wait on the food, but we’ll bring out the garlic bread ay-ess-aay-pee. See you fine folks very soon!”

He did a mock bow and sauntered away.

“He’s… excitable?” said Kiki.

“Hey, at least he likes his job, right?” asked Steven.

“Or he’s really good at faking it,” muttered Lars.

For the next ten minutes, the group made small talk, and little by little, Sadie gathered what had - and had not - changed for them. Particularly the case of Kiki Pizza.

Kiki spoke of Fish Stew Pizza. She still worked there; with Nanafua serving as mayor and Jenny running her business, it was just her and Kofi left. The gems had been a godsend, Bixbite making cutting pizza trivial, and a few other pearls and rubies (why were there so many rubies in Beach City?) were also lending a hand. The result was that Kiki had less and less to do around the shop; it might have sounded like a good opportunity.

Beach City was a lovely and wonderful place, but it wasn’t a land of opportunity.

There were no jobs in the town; most were full, and the ones that weren’t full tended to be unpaid human-gem outreach programs. As for out of town - well, she’d done college remotely, but it seemed that the idea of an online university ruffled feathers among most employers.

“They say I’m nice,” she said, “but I’m not qualified enough.”

She’d shrug and keep talking, and it would rankle Sadie, just a little. _Come on, Kiki, get mad! They’re being unfair to you._

Then again, she could hardly argue life was being much fairer to her at the moment.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it - Shep’s name was written on the screen.

_R u ok?_

Sadie sighed and tapped out a reply.

 _Yeah_ , she replied. _U?_

There was a brief wait before their reply came through.

_Yeah._

Sadie tapped one more reply - _Good._ \- and left it there. She heard another reply come through as she slipped the phone in her pocket, but decided she’d read it later.

Excitable Kiwi returned with garlic bread, slipping it down on the table with an exaggerated flourish and a bright grin at Steven. Sadie reached to grab a piece, but it was just out of reach - Connie shifted it to the side without a word, and she whispered her a thanks as she took a piece.

“Dinner will be ten minutes, guys,” said the waiter. “Can I get you anything else?”

Sadie took a sip of her drink - it _did_ taste weird.

“Uh, I think there might be something up with my drink?”

The waiter tilted his head, picking up and sniffing it. Sadie winced.

“Hmm…” He grabbed a straw from the neighbouring table and used it to take a sip. “Seems fine to me!”

He planted it down and headed off before she could say another word.

Sadie stared down at her drink, baffled. There was a brief silence.

“Did he just drink your drink?” asked Connie, baffled.

“I think he was just trying to help,” shrugged Steven.

“I guess,” mused Sadie. “But I’d rather he didn’t do… ah well, I probably wasn’t gonna finish it anyway.”

She was about to take a bite of the garlic bread when her stomach rumbled.

“Uh, excuse me, I’ll be back in a sec.”

She got up, heading off to the bathroom.

Sometimes, restaurant bathrooms could be baffling places. The toilets at the Smooth Jazz Cafe were no exception. There was a unisex washing room, where all the sinks and handriers were, and a series of enclosed stalls marked ‘gates’ and ‘mops’, helpfully marked with the silhouettes of a man and a woman respectively. Sadie highly doubted the slang was used correctly or respectfully.

Stranger still were the walls, covered in band memorabilia from the 1940s. That was odd enough, but the inside of the stall door was covered in photos of the Rat Pack. Sadie didn’t know what management was thinking, but if they thought doing one's business while a frozen Frank Sinatra crooned at you was in any way comfortable, they were mistaken. (And what did Sinatra have to do with jazz anyway?)

She had just gotten out and was washing her hands when she heard a voice in the door.

“...so you know that group that came in? The college kids or whatever?”

It was the waiter - out of the corner of her eye, Sadie could see him talking to a colleague by the door.

“Yeah?”

“You see the blonde one?”

“The midget?” the other waiter said casually.

“Yeah, the shortass.”

Sadie turned her eyes away, focusing on scrubbing her hands, the warm water and the soap running through her-

“She went for the Ultimate,” said the man. “With no salad. I mean really, you think she fucking needs it?”

“I’m not surprised,” the other said. “She’s, like, wider than she is tall.”

“Yeah, tell me about it!” The man stretched his arms out. “Look at her! She’s a fuckin’ blimp, and she’s asking for our biggest burger!”

They both laughed, hard and loud.

“Like, _fuck_ ,” said the woman, “Get a clue! Unless she’s one of them… what do they call them? Body positive…”

“Positive to what? Type-2 fuckin’ diabetes?” sniffed the man. “I mean, I even tried to help her, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“She ordered a cola because, y’know, _of course she did_ ,” he spat. “Swapped it out for diet. Way I see it, she can afford to cut the calories. But she noticed.”

“Of course, fatasses always do,” nodded the woman. “They have taste buds attuned to shitty foods.”

“You know what gets me?” The man said, his smile falling slightly. “Fatty-boomsticks out there had parents, y’know? Probably told her that she’s _beautiful_ _just the way she is_.”

“Needed more tough love,” said the woman. “I mean, at that height she’s never gonna be a supermodel…”

“...or get a fuckin’ boyfriend.”

The woman laughed.

“Yeah… but she could at least be passable? Instead of being so round that we could roll her down Bunker Hill and she’d keep going all the way to the harbour.”

The man chuckled. “Yeah… well, that’s my break, gotta get back to serving them. It’s a shame, you know, the rest of them seem okay. If they could just shake the fatass…”

They left, the door creaking shut behind them. Sadie was left alone, having long stopped scrubbing. The only sounds were the running tap, the muffled ambiance of the restaurant, and a tinny version of _Candy Man_ playing on the speakers.

A long, laboured sigh broke the quiet, and without another word, she turned off the tap and retreated back into the bathroom stool, closing and locking the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever write a character and find you want to beat the shit of them?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded_

**_8pm_ **

Sadie had been gone for some time by the time the excitable waiter returned with their food.

Lars watched as, with a flair and a swing that made him somewhat afraid he’d drop all the good, he laid out the food in front of each chair, offering his well-wishes to each patron. To Lars, he handed a bowl of fries - the pirate wasn’t really hungry for much more. He noticed the waiter grimace, ever so slightly, before putting down Sadie’s food in front of her empty chair.

Lars narrowed his eyes. Probably wanted to hit on her or something.

“Anyone seen Sadie?” he asked as the waiter left. “She’s been gone a while.”

“No,” replied Kiki. “I can go check if you…”

“Sorry I took a while.”

Sadie walked up to the table, slipping back into her seat. She offered everyone a smile, but something looks slightly _wrong_ to Lars.

“There was a line, had to wait, y’know?”

Lars leaned slightly closer, studying Sadie’s face. She turned to him, raising a puzzled eyebrow.

“What?”

Her eyes. They were slightly _red._

Lars sat back. “Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Just thought I saw, like, a fly or something.”

 _Don’t press_ , his mind told him. _Nothing good ever came from that._

He mentally shrugged and looked down at his food, taking one of the fries in his fingers and slipping it into his mouth. He briefly explored the texture, soft and salty, before slowly chewing and swallowing.

He had an odd relationship with food these days. He’d never been a big eater (or a healthy one, for that matter), but before he’d… _gone to Homeworld_ , he’d certainly liked eating food, particularly the baked goods he made in secret. After his resurrection, his appetite had declined; at first, though he was never hungry, he ate to feel human. At some points in his long journey home, he’d go days without a meal before Steven checked in, and yearn for old flavours.

Then he’d actually made it home. Suddenly he was surrounded by all the foodstuffs he could ever want, and slowly and surely he found out that he didn’t really want any of it anymore. He couldn’t tell why, but things he’d once liked, like ice-cream and donuts and soda, now felt almost unpleasant in his mouth. Sweet things were now too sweet. Dry foods often felt bland. As for meat - well, now that he had died and returned, eating food from animals made him feel rather uneasy.

He still ate socially, so as not to stick out too much (even if he already stuck out like a pastel pink sore thumb.) But if you told him he’d never eat again, he probably wouldn’t really react too badly to it.

Was that wrong? Did it make him less human?

Lars didn’t know. In fact, he didn’t really know what he still had in common with them.

He took another, fiddling with it in his hands. His mind was far away.

A few weeks ago, back in town for a while and with nothing to do, Lars had decided to go to the park; just to hang out while he waited for his crew to finish their shore leave in Little Homeworld. He’d sat down at the base of the statue of Captain Dewey, closed his eyes and dozed - not slept, not really, just dozed. He thought about little things - his parents, his crew, Sadie, stars and planets, what Emerald was doing these days, capes, anything that came to mind - and after what felt like an hour, he opened his eyes again.

It had been three days.

“Lars?”

Lars looked up. Steven was looking over at him, his plate already cleared. How long had it been, Lars wondered?

“Oh, sorry, just got distracted,” he said, shrugging.

Steven smiled. “It’s okay.”

Lars bit on the fry - it was definitely cool now. As he chewed, something hit him.

“You don’t have nicknames for the gems, right?” he asked.

Steven’s brow shot up. “Hmm?”

“You just call Amethyst and Pearl ‘Amethyst and Pearl,” he said. “I mean, I know Garnet picked her name, same as Rhody, but… I guess there’s millions of Amethysts and Pearls and stuff, so…”

Steven scratched his chin.

“You know, I’ve never thought about that,” he replied.

“I guess it’s because they’re the only Amethyst and Pearl you’ve ever known,” said Connie, leaning in and joining the conversation.

“Yeah, but, they do it too,” continued Lars. “They don’t have nicknames for… well, Amethyst does, but she usually calls Pearl Pearl, y’know?”

He put down the half eaten fry.

“Like, imagine if you were a gem,” he said. “And there were, like, hundreds of other Connies. Would you still call yourself Connie, or would you come up with a name to split yourself from the rest?”

“Gems have a lot of problems with that, I think,” mused Steven. “I mean, Pearl and Amethyst are totally different from the other Pearls and Amethysts - I mean, they’re all different from each other - but I think they’re comfortable with just being called… well, Pearl and Amethyst.”

“Why, what would you call them?” asked Connie.

Lars pondered for a second.

“Glinda and Veronica?”

“No,” said Steven flatly.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Alright guys!”

The waiter bounced up, carrying a little black binder with the receipt tucked inside. He pressed it on the table and grinned widely - Sadie seemed to recoil slightly away from him, and Lars narrowed his eyes.

_What is your deal?_

“You lovely people wanna pay with cash or card?” he asked.

“Cash,” replied Steven.

“Awesome, awesome!” exclaimed the waiter, as if they’d just won the World Series. “Well, I’ll be along to collect this in a bit. Thanks for dining at the Smooth Jazz Cafe, and have a _bee-you-tiful_ evening!”

He danced off.

Steven blinked as he left, then pulled out his wallet.

“Okay…” he opened the binder. “$69.99… plus 20% tip… $84!”

He slipped the money into the binder.

“Anyone else want to add anything?”

Jenny shrugged. “He seemed like a cool guy, I’ll throw in five.”

Kiki, Buck, Sour Cream and Connie responded in kind. Sadie hesitated, and slowly reached for her pocket.

Lars cleared his throat.

“Uh, I think I left my wallet in Buck’s van,” he said. “My bad, I guess I can’t tip, you know?”

“Oh, that’s okay Lars, we’ve probably tipped enough now,” replied Steven, closing the binder as Connie handed her contribution.

As he pushed away the binder, Sadie and Lars exchanged a glance - she sent him a wordless ‘thanks.’

“You need to go back and get the wallet, man?” asked Buck. “We can wait while you do that.”

“I…”

Lars nodded.

“Sure,” he replied. “Hey, Connie, you wanna come?”

Connie’s brow shot up. “I… sure, I guess so?”

“Awesome, c’mon.”

Lars stood up, plunged his hands into his pocket, and strode off for the door, leaving Connie scurrying to keep up.

* * *

“Okay, I’m gonna be real with you - I have my wallet, and we’re not going back to the van.”

Connie raised her eyebrow as she and Lars walked away from the subway station, down a narrow cobblestone road towards the harbour.

“Okay,” she asked. “What’re we doing?”

“I kinda wanted to ask you a question,” he replied.

They stepped out onto the seafront, and Lars pointed across the harbour at a tall wooden ship on the far side, its masts towering over the buildings alongside. It’s long hull was painted black and white, making it look almost like it was made of iron.

“Which pirate had that ship?” asked Lars.

Connie chuckled.

“None,” she replied. “That’s not a pirate ship, Lars, that’s the USS _Constitution._ ”

“USS? So a navy ship?”

“Yup.”

“Aw man.”

Crestfallen, Lars strode over to the railing by the sea, leaning on it.

“So pirate-age Emerald would’ve had that ship,” he said sadly.

“I dunno,” Connie shrugged, following him. “I don’t think pirates were still a thing by then. They disappeared by the 1720s.”

“Disappeared? Or got put down?”

Connie tilted her head.

“Well, they _were_ robbing people.”

“Yeah, but, like, people who owned slaves and shit,” Lars replied.

“Some pirates owned their own slaves though,” said Connie. “People like Henry Morgan.”

“The rum pirate?”

“Yeah.”

Lars shook his head.

“Captain Morgan, how could you betray me like this?”

They both chuckled.

“You ever think about what it’d be like?” asked Lars. “On those ships?”

Connie glanced left and right.

“Well, don’t tell anyone but…”

She leaned in closer.

“...I’ve written Buccaneers of the Spanish Main fanfic,” she whispered.

Lars snorted.

“Really?” he exclaimed. “I… did you _see_ the last movie?”

“Come on, I only like the first three!” Connie punched him in the arm.

“Should I warn Steven? He might have some competition from John Saffron!”

“Please,” snorted Connie. “My attractions are firmly divided between Eliza Swanson and Commodore Morrison.”

Lars laughed, shaking his head. He turned back to the ship, but his gaze was directed somewhat skywards.

“Do you think, like, after people had been at sea for all those years,” he mused, “they ever came back and just felt like they didn’t fit in anymore? Like, maybe their friends and families weren’t how they remembered them, or everything just felt… _weird?_ When you’ve done so much and been through so much, how do you just go back to… I dunno, school and work and family?”

“Is that how you feel?” asked Connie.

“Well, do you?”

Connie bit her lip.

“I figured out I didn’t belong here anymore a while ago,” said Lars. “And I… I guess I just…”

He shook his head.

“Forget about it,” he said. “I shouldn’t be going on about how fucked up I am, you know? I mean, Steven watched me die and come back to life, nothing I’ve been through compares to that.”

He turned to Connie - she still stared out across the harbour. Her face was neutral, but her fingers clutched the rail, just a little _too_ tightly.

“Connie?”

“When I was on Homeworld,” she said, “with Steven, I…”

She took a deep breath.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning to Lars and offering him a small, sad smile. “Come on, we’d better get back before the others miss us.”

She stepped back, turned around and started to walk back before Lars could reply. He opened his mouth to call after her, but his response caught in his throat.

_Don’t press. Nothing good ever came from that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I read Counting Down I've been a fan of Connie and Lars being bros.  
> Also my heart still hasn't recovered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to racism and police brutality.

**Chapter Six**

_take a look at the lawman beating on the wrong guy_

**_9pm_ **

“Check it out! They have a whole store for N&Ns!”

Sour Cream pointed to the shop on the corner of the cobblestone street, their eyes lighting up. Kiki glanced over; it was bright and gaudy, with life-sized replicas of the crimson and sapphire N&Ns standing out the front. An upbeat pop song played loudly through the speakers by the door, illuminated by flashing neons lights.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, scratching the back of her head. “I might give that a miss. I can’t stand N&Ns.”

“And I thought _you_ were the evil twin,” said Sour Cream to Jenny.

Jenny grinned and crossed her arms. “Only _most_ of the time.”

“Well, I’m going in,” said Buck. “Even if it’s embolic of late-stage capitalism, it’s N&Ns, so…”

He shrugged and strode inside. The rest of the group followed, and Kiki settled down by a nearby wall, leaning against it and taking out her phone. There were no messages to check, but she clicked on her father’s name and typed one up regardless.

_Kiki: How’s Gunga?_

The words _Dad is tying_ appeared below her message - while she waited, she checked her news app. Not much today; an election in Thailand, a new movie announced and a sports team had beaten another sports team.

There was a ping as Kofi replied.

_Kofi: Cold cleared up. Back in the office. Told her to slow down._

Kiki chuckled.

_Kiki: Gunga? Slow down?_

She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It was dark now, the stars obscured by the soft glow of light pollution. She could see a plane’s lights blinking in the distance, and for a moment wondered where it might be going.

Kiki looked down to her phone again - she was just opening a new message when a voice cut it.

“Is there a reason you’re standing around here?”

Kiki jumped, looking up. A police officer stood next to her, a hand on his waist.

“I-I’m sorry?” she asked. “I didn’t see you come-”

“Is there a reason you’re standing around here,” the policeman repeated sharply.

Kiki swallowed.

“I’m just waiting for my friends,” she replied. “They’re in the N&N shop and I…”

“Uh-huh,” the policeman interrupted. “Well, please move along.”

Kiki looked around - she couldn’t see any signs saying she couldn’t stand here. As far as she could tell, she was just on the sidewalk of a public street.

“A-am I hurting anyone, officer?” she asked.

“Loitering’s a misdemeanour, please move along,” said the policeman, his lips thinning.

“I w-won’t be here much longer, sir,” said Kiki, her voice shaking slightly. “I just need to…”

The officer’s hand moved to his belt, and the nightstick that hung from it.

“I won’t ask you again, move along please,” he said firmly.

“I…”

“Is there a problem here, officer?”

The policeman turned on his heel. Connie stood behind him, backed up Steven and the rest of their friends. Sour Cream carried a large N&N labelled bag, and had already opened a packet of them - the others hadn’t bought anything.

“Please move along, ma’am, this doesn’t concern you,” said the policeman.

“It does, actually,” snapped Jenny, stepping forward. “That’s my _sister_.”

“And our _friend_ ,” added Sour Cream.

“She was waiting for us,” continued Connie. “Waiting for an appointment, meeting or social arrangement does not constitute loitering under state law in Massachusetts. Now, do you have anything else you need to talk about?”

The policeman stared at Connie, his hand still floating over his nightstick. For a long, uncomfortable moment, nobody spoke.

“No, ma’am,” replied the policeman at last, moving his hand away.

“Well then,” said Connie, smiling in a way that conveyed absolutely no pleasantry or respect, “ _please move along._ ”

The policeman scowled and strode off down the pavement, muttering under his breath.

“Whoa,” said Sadie. “Really served him the law there, huh Connie?”

“Dad taught me a lot about how to handle cops,” replied Connie, shrugging. “Not the _specific_ laws though, I looked those up myself.”

Jenny stepped over to her sister, putting her hands on her shoulder.

“You alright, Kiki?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” replied Kiki. “Just… shaken, I guess. I mean, I knew it could happen b-but y’know, it never happens in Beach City and…”

Jenny pulled her into a hug.

“It’s okay, sis, it’s over now,” she said. “We’re gonna keep on going, okay?”

Kiki smiled and hugged back, taking in the warm safety of her sister’s embrace.

“And if he comes back, I’ll kick his ass,” added Lars.

“ _Lars?!_ ” exclaimed Steven.

“What, I took on an empire!” replied Lars. “Think I’m scared of some two-bit racist patrolman?”

“But he’s a _policeman!_ ”

“So? So was Emerald,” said Lars. “You know the rule, Steven. ACAB. All Cops Are…”

“That’s not fair,” interrupted Steven.

Lars pondered and nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “I should show Emerald more respect.”

He laughed and started walking off down the street, ignoring Steven’s spluttered protest. He turned to Connie, clearly looking for help.

“Sorry, Steven,” replied Connie, smirking. “He’s right. All Cops Are Bastards.”

Steven’s eyes widened.

“ _That’s_ what the B stands for?” he exclaimed.

“What did you _think_ the B stood for?” asked Jenny, stepping back from her hug.

“...bad,” admitted Steven.

Jenny smiled and shook her head.

“True, but that lacks _oomph._ ”

* * *

The next destination for their night out was a place called Club Reflex, a little way down the road from the centre of town. The best way to get there was by tram, and thus the group had climbed onto an old, near-empty two-car vehicle painted in faded white-and-green. The tram clattered and groaned as it started moving, shaking as it started its weary journey down the street.

Kiki sat by the door, watching the city of Boston slide slowly by. It was still fairly busy outside; the night life was clearly quite active here. Groups of people orbited the clubs and bars, although a few were starting to head home. Every so often, the tram would clatter past a patrolman or police car, silently keeping an eye on proceedings. Whenever she saw that black uniform, she couldn’t help but shudder.

She told herself she was overreacting - that if the cop had forced the issue, she’d have just moved and told Jenny where she’d gone via text message. But the cop’s hand hovering over that nightstick stuck with her, imprinted on her mind's eye.

There were never many police in Beach City.

There had been Deputy Battenbinder, the man the county sheriff sent to the elementary schools every year to give lectures on safety. He’d been terrifying, but more for his tales of crime and corruption that made Beach City feel like Queens. In the middle of his horrible spiels about being kidnapped and dumped in the harbour, he’d always emphasised that, no matter what, a kid could always trust the police. The police only went after bad people, after all.

There was that patrol car between Beach City and Ocean Town too that spent its days going after speeding motorists and people with broken tail lights. Kiki had never had a problem with them; she was a meticulously careful driver. She’d been pulled over by them exactly once, and that was because they were after some eighties car that had led them on a chase earlier that evening.

She’d heard her dad talk about police, rarely positively - he’d always told her to avoid talking to Deputy Battenbinder or anyone else from the sheriff’s office, and he’d been pretty wound up after hearing Kiki had been pulled over that night. She’d never quite gotten it; her teachers had always said police were good, so why didn’t Kofi like them?

She’d learned the answer gradually, in a hundred newspapers and TV reports - a man in Wilmingmore beaten and arrested while filling up his car, a woman in Jayhawk locked up for twelve hours without charge, a person in Windy City hospitalised after a traffic stop. Name after name, face after face, shown in the middle of the news when the ‘important’ stories were done, said to be ‘resisting arrest’ or to have ‘a history of incarceration’. Being told that the police ‘had no choice’ and ‘feared for their safety.’

And every one of those faces was black.

“Kiki?”

She looked up. Jenny had walked over; she put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

She blinked, and in the darkness she saw the hand over the nightstick once more.

She forced a smile onto her face.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I will be.”

The tram rumbled to a halt, the bell ringing. The door slid open, and without another word Kiki stepped out into the night. She exhaled through her nose, eyes closing for a second - she felt a hand wrap around hers, and opened her eyes to see Jenny next to her.

“You need to say anything,” she said. “You let me know, okay?”

Kiki nodded.

“Thanks, Jenny.”

They exchanged small smiles and carried on with the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it was better to say something clumsily than not say it at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few apologies - first that this took so long (I got sick) and second that there's no picture this time. I couldn't think of where to put one, and I didn't want you to have to wait while I tried to work that out.

**Chapter Seven**

_we didn’t start the fire_

**10pm**

Club Reflex had started life just over a hundred years ago, as a storage warehouse for the Cunard Line. When the transatlantic liner trade faded away in the 1960s, it was left to rot, an eyesore on the Boston waterfront, and for a while it was threatened with demolition. But then came the nineties, and the urge to make trendy, happening shops and clubs out of industrial waste, and the warehouse became an upmarket nightclub.

Unfortunately for the new owners, it didn’t matter how trendy or upmarket your nightclub was if it was across the road from a fishing warehouse.

By the time the fishing company wrapped up operations in 2009 and knocked down it’s smelly warehouse, it was too late to attract the kind of clientele that Club Reflex had wanted. But a new lease of life had emerged in the form of college students and other young people put off by the expensive, elitist nature of the downtown venues and attracted to Reflex’s lower prices. On top of that, it had operated for over twenty years without a major fight or police raid, which was definitely a bonus.

Steven had been here before - an indie band he liked had played here a few weeks ago, and though Connie had been busy, he’d had fun on his own. He’d learned a few tricks from attending Sadie Killer concerts for visiting loud, vibrant nightclubs. He kept a few spare pairs of earplugs in case either he or a friend needed them, as well as a card for the local taxi company and a stress ball in case things got too much. He made sure he knew where the exits were, too, in case he needed to retreat. He generally _didn’t_ need to, but it was good to have options if they were needed.

As the bouncer checked their ID’s, he felt Connie tap his hand.

“You have those earplugs?”

Steven smiled and handed her a pair.

It was hard to prepare for the barrage of senses that Steven experienced on entering. Trance music throbbed loudly as strobe lights of blue, green and purple danced around the walls and ceiling. There were normal lights, but they were fairly dark, leaving him with an eerie sense of vertigo as the colours and shadows warped and shifted. Connie slipped in the earplugs as they found a little booth.

“Who’s ordering?” asked Sadie.

Buck stood up.

“Me,” he said. “We must order in descending order of coolness.”

“Which means _I_ buy first,” said Jenny, elbowing Buck in the side and grinning. “What’ll it be?”

They ordered, and then Steven made his way out onto the dance floor. 

It was a fairly tight environment, but Steven didn’t mind - dancing was best done in groups, after all. He enjoyed these random moments of weird intimacy with strangers; it brought back memories from the road of long talks with old men in desert diners, chance encounters in the streets of Empire City and camping grounds with only one other occupant. Sure, there were downsides, like the smell of body odour and the occasional come-ons by some of the drunker patrons, but they never managed to sour his mood.

The night raged on. He briefly came back to grab his drink - it took a lot to get him drunk, so he generally didn’t try, settling for lemonade - and swapped partners on the floor time and time again. But eventually, even Steven could get danced out, and he found himself needing to sit down.

The others had scattered to the four winds, but Connie was still sitting at the booth as he slid in.

“Hey Connie, you ever wonder why they call it ‘being sh…”

He trailed off.

Connie’s nose was deep in a copy of _Introduction to Political Science._

“...you brought that?”

Connie looked up.

“Well, I don’t really _dance_ , so…”

Steven frowned. “This was meant to be a night off.”

Connie sighed.

“I know, Steven, I know, but I _really_ need to finish this chapter,” she said. “I thought I could do it while you were having fun on your own, so…”

“You could come dance with me,” said Steven, smiling. “We could show this place some Stevonnie moves!”

Connie shook her head.

“I really need to focus on this right now,” she replied.

“You… you haven’t just been waiting for a moment to be able to read, have you?”

Connie smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No, Steven, it’s all fine, I’m having fun,” she said. “You go have fun too, alright?”

Steven nodded hesitantly.

“Alright.”

He got up and walked towards the bar - there Lars sat, talking to no-one and staring into space.

“Hey, Lars.”

Lars jumped and turned around.

“Whoa, Steven!” he exclaimed. “Jeez, I nearly crapped myself!”

“You’re not drinking anything?” asked Steven, sitting next to him.

“I don’t really get drunk,” Lars shrugged. “How about you?”

“Nah, not really,” replied Steven. “Not unless I drink _a lot_ , and then it wears off quickly. Bet you could, if you tried.”

“You saying I didn’t _try_ to get drunk?” asked Lars, eyebrow raised.

“No, no, I’m not…”

Lars grinned impishly.

“Hey barkeep,” he said. “I need a couple of shots of vodka here. _Straight._ ”

The bartender - a short, pink-haired woman with a name tag reading ‘Mary’ - turned to them, her brow furrowed.

“Uh, how much do we mean by a couple?” she asked.

“Y’know,” Lars replied. “A _couple_.”

Mary swallowed, nodded, and brought up a couple of shot glasses, filling them one by one with straight vodka. Steven took one in his hand, looking warily down.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” replied Lars.

“You get alcohol poisoning and die,” said Mary flatly.

“Eh, I’ve died once.”

He tilted his head back and drained the shot. Steven took a deep breath and did so in kind.

There was no sense of a tingling in his head - he might as well have been drinking strange-tasting water. With the clearest of minds he regarded the next shot, sitting there waiting for him on the counter. Lars was already going for his next one - he supposed this was a game now, and he’d better play.

Two, three and four went down with little change, but at the fifth he felt the faintest sense of lightness. It grew steadily into a pleasant warmth.

“Feeling anything?” asked Lars.

“Hmm… I dunno, but it’s nice, I guess,” replied Steven, shrugging.

He kept going, and it fell into a sort of rhythm - drink, drink, drink, drink. He was faintly aware that people were starting to gather around them, but he was more interested in the lights - they seemed to swirl more and more as he drank on. Lars showed no sign of stopping, and Steven grew more and more determined not to let him him, so he carried on. Victory simply seemed to matter to him more and more.

“Steven? You, uh, you okay there?”

Steven turned his head. Sadie stood behind him - was she underwater? She looked a bit underwater. Oh well.

“Just… just gotta beat Lars,” he replied, taking another shot.

“Do you?” Sadie’s voice was dangerously even as she turned towards the pink man, still grinning impishly as he drained his shots.

He drank more and more, the voices echoing around him.

“How many’s he had?”

“I counted thirty-six, kid’s gonna need his stomach pumped.”

“I mean logically speaking he should be dead.”

“Hey, if they do die, do I get fired?”

“Hey… hey, I know you!”

A somewhat slurred voice broke through the others, and Steven turned around.

The woman swirled and wobbled in front of him, blonde hair slightly unkempt as she clung to a wine glass. Steven smiled unevenly.

“W’ met?” he asked.

“You’re that Indian girl’s friend!” exclaimed the girl. “Was it… Christie? I think it was Christie! Anyway, I’m Mandy!”

“Oh hey, Connie’s talked about you sometimes,” replied Steven brightly. “You’re from… from PolSci! She said you’re a… a bi… I can’t say the word, it’s mean.”

“Aaaaaw, fuck her!” said Mandy. “What’s she know, Delmarva hick? I’m not the one who fuck… who fuckin’ got an E on the essay.”

“Yeah, E!” replied Steven brightly. “For excellent, right? ‘Cause she’s brilliant.”

Mandy shook her head. “E’s for _fail_ , silly! She _failed!_ Best mark she’s got all term’s a low credit, that… that’s brilliant. Should drop out like that history punk.”

Steven blinked slowly.

“Connie… _failed?_ ”

Mandy smiled. It was almost a sad expression.

“Yeah,” she replied. “She came here all talkin’ about being president and gem diplomacy shit and what not, and like… she’s no better than any of us. No better than me…”

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Mother didn’t like that C, no she did not,” she whispered. “But at least I’m better than someone.”

“M...Mandy?”

The swirling was starting to die down - there was a faint pounding in his head, growing worse and worse. The shots stood forgotten on the counter.

“You either make it or you fail,” she said flatly. “And your friend? She failed. Better find a new one.”

She turned and walked away. He stared as she disappeared into the crowd.

“Connie…” he whispered.

“Hey, dickshit!”

Lars had jumped from his seat and was pointing his finger at another patron. Steven’s brow shot up - was that the waiter? From the Smooth Jazz Cafe?

“You’ve got some kinda deal with my friend!” he exclaimed, pointing to Sadie with his other hand (she was quickly turning red.) “I demand you apologize!”

The waiter smiled unpleasantly.

“Oh, what, is she your girlfriend?” he asked, his voice slurring. “What, you like her for her personality or something? She looks like a fuckin’ circus freak?”

Lars’ fists clenched.

“Lars, just leave it,” whispered Sadie.

“You wanna know who I am, chucklefuck?” demanded Lars. “I’ve stolen ships from dictatorships! I’ve wrestled alien monsters! Unless you want me to hurl your pasty white ass all over this bar, you are gonna apologize, right now!”

“Oh, look out, we’ve got a badass over here!” retorted the waiter. “Look, the only thing she’s got going for her are _these_ , and that’s debatable at best-”

Everything seemed to happen at once.

The waiter reached out towards Sadie’s breasts. Before he could touch them, she had slapped his arm away.

Lars, showing much less restraint, slapped him across the face.

The waiter immediately lunged at him, hands clasping around his neck as they crashed across the bar. Glasses and bottles were sent flying as they tumbled down onto the floor behind.

Sadie grabbed a stool and climbed onto the bar, swinging it down onto the waiter’s back in an attempt to get him off Lars. He screeched and rolled off him.

Mary screamed out; “ _Security!_ ” She then grabbed her phone to dial 911.

The waiter hobbled to his feet, grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the counter, and swung towards Lars’ face.

Lars screamed, and a wave of pink energy sent him flying into the far wall.

The club’s music system began to play _Ballroom Blitz_.

A hulking bouncer raced up to the waiter, but he threw a surprisingly violent punch that knocked him down.

Sadie yelled out. “Run!”

Steven felt himself yanked back as she grabbed his collar, dragging him from his seat and towards the exit. As he tumbled from the stool, he banged his head on a nearby table.

The world turned into a swirling vortex of black and purple and green, and he felt like his head was being nailed with a jackhammer.

Then he smelt the sea air, and slowly he opened his eyes.

The whole group was outside, a little way from Club Reflex. Police cars were pulling up outside and cops were rushing in, but it seemed they were far enough away not to be noticed. Lars was leaning against a wall, breathing heavily and nursing a black eye. Sadie was pacing back and forward, her face red with fury as the Cool Kids and Kiki kept a wide berth. Connie stood next to him, looking deeply annoyed. Before he could speak, she had turned to Lars.

“You mind telling me what the _fuck_ just happened?!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_pressure pushing down on me_

**11pm**

They waited on the underground station platform in dead silence.

It had been a long walk from Club Reflex, and not just physically. Sirens had filled the air as police backup arrived - Lars’ fight had spread quickly, and the place was a mess of brawling, both between patrons and against the arriving cops. Perhaps Lars ought to have felt proud - he’d destroyed the club’s reputation in two minutes. Any pride he might have felt, however, was drowned by the mother of all rages from Sadie as soon as they’d lost the sound of the police.

“I told you to _leave it!_ ” Her voice had echoed in the street, and the few people still on the street at this hour had turned to look at her.

“What was I supposed to do, let him talk to you like that?” Lars had spat back.

“ _Yes!_ You were!”

“Oh, and I suppose you liked him trying to fondle your boobs, huh?”

“I could handle him, you fucking…”

“Oh yeah, sure, because hiding in the bathroom for twenty minutes was _totally_ handling it.”

“Beats having half the Boston Police called on my ass, Lars! Why don’t you ever learn to just _butt out!_ ”

“Oh, but everyone else can fucking butt in, can’t they? You’d let Steven fight your battles! Or how about Ronaldo? Or Shep - oh wait, no, you kicked them out too, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t kick them out, Lars, I…”

“Oh, theu left you? I mean, shit knows…”

“We are _taking a break!_ ”

They were both red in the face now, and Connie remembered sweat building on Sadie’s face. The others were sharing nervous glances - except for Steven, who was rubbing his aching temples. The hangover had come on like an express train, it seemed.

“Look, I’m not just gonna let that jerkoff hurt you!”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should, instead of making it worse, huh? Maybe…”

“Damn it, Sadie, this shit is why I broke up with you!”

The words came out like a slap, echoing down the street.

“You know, maybe that’s why Shep walked out, huh? Maybe they couldn’t handle this fucking self-loathing shit you keep falling…”

“Lars.”

Buck’s voice was even, cool and totally authoritative. He never needed to say the words to make himself clear.

_You’ve said enough._

So now they stood on the platform, Lars and Sadie as far away from each other as possible. Connie stood roughly in the middle, Steven still muttering to himself as he caressed a water bottle like a long-lost child. Sour Cream and Lars were whispering something to each other, the latter still angry but seemingly starting to cool down.

“You really hurt her, man,” Sour Cream whispered.

“I know, I know,” Lars replied. “I just… sometimes it just gets, I dunno, like… like a red mist, I guess? It hasn’t happened in months, why tonight?”

Sour Cream shrugged their shoulders. “You learn to live with these things, man, but they never go away,” they replied. “You had a bad moment. It happens. It doesn’t mean you’re not responsible for what you said, but…”

“Let me guess,” Lars said darkly. “There’s no shame in it.”

“Do you take meds?” asked Sour Cream. “For the anxiety?”

Lars nodded. “Yeah, just… I think I forget ‘em tonight.”

His lips narrowed.

“I’m not gonna apologize for punching him though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The wind picked up - the telltale sign of an approaching train. Lars and Sour Cream’s words were drowned up as it squealed into the station, sailing to a stop in front of them. The doors creaked open, and Connie stepped in, taking a seat near the doorway. Steven sat across from her - his eyes were still a little red, but he smiled.

“That was a mistake,” he said.

“I mean, we know you can get drunk now, right?” Connie shot him a half-smile. “We’ve learned something.”

“Yeah, for ten minutes,” replied Steven. “I feel like a jackhammer’s stuck in my skull, but I think it’s passing.”

“Ten minute hangovers,” Connie chuckled. “There’s people at the uni who’d kill to be you.”

Steven let out a long _mmph_ and closed his eyes.

“They can be my guest,” he muttered.

For a few moments, the train clattered on - a station passed by. Connie gazed into the darkness, straining her eyes to see the plethora of mysteries in the tunnel.

She’d always been able to see magic in mundane places - the result of a lonely childhood spent reading fantasy novels. Every staff-only door, every flicker of light, every tunnel veering off in another direction - her mind built outlandish theories for each of them. Sure, she knew that other track was siding or a passing loop, but her mind invented ideas of secret railways to magical places, doors to extra-dimensional realms, and urban fairies dancing in the lights created by the electrical static. The world was as magical as you let it be, and even as an adult, she clung onto those little flights of fantasy.

Steven cleared his throat.

“So, uh, I met Mandy at the club.”

Connie scoffed.

“What did she say?” she asked. “Probably something dumb about ‘Delmarva hicks’ or… wait, she didn’t hit on you or anything, did she?”

“No, she didn’t…”

Steven took a deep breath.

“How’re you holding up with PolSci?” he asked. “I mean, _really_.”

Connie swallowed.

“Uh, fine,” she replied. “Why-why’re you…”

“Mandy told me you got an E, Connie,” replied Steven. “That the best you got was a low credit. I mean, I’m sure she’s exaggerating, but I just wanna…”

His voice seemed to fade as Connie’s mind flashed back - she sitting in that big lecture hall, a teacher’s assistant handing her her essay with a casual smile. Looking down, seeing the big, red ‘E’, the note from the lecturer underneath.

_Do you need to talk about anything? My office is open if you want to make an appointment._

Pity. Concern. It would’ve been better if he’d called her a failure.

Voices echoed in her head as the lights flickered.

_“...he dropped Pol Sci for History. History. You just don’t make a good career out of history.”_

_“He said he couldn’t keep up with it. Said he’d had a nervous breakdown. And I don’t mean to be an asshole, but if he thinks this is hard…”_

_“...might as well apply for McSanders right now, because he ain’t goin’ higher then that.”_

“Connie…”

She barely heard Steven - in her mind’s eye, she saw her mother, cloaking in black and towering over her, a scythe in one hand and her burning essay in the other.

**“This isn’t good enough. All those years of paying for good schools, for tennis, for tutors, and this is all you can do? _Pathetic._ ”**

The essay burned to cinders, and the ghostly form of Priyanka Maheswaran dropped them dismissively to the floor. Connie felt her years melt away, her muscle from sword practice shrink into nothing, until suddenly she was just a meek little girl with rose-tinted glasses again, shivering in the shadow of her mother.

**“You are such a disappointment, Connie.”**

“ _The train is now arriving at Middlesex University Station. Alight here for Middlesex University and buses for Waverly and Arlington Heights._ ”

“Connie?”

Connie blinked. Steven’s hand was on her shoulder, and the train was shuddering to a halt. Slowly, shakily, she got to her feet.

“I think you were disassociating,” said Steven, perhaps redundantly.

“I…”

She swallowed.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she admitted. “I just… I spent all this time trying to get into University, and then I got there, and… and I…”

The doors opened, and Steven helped her out onto the platform.

“You got what you wanted, and you found out you didn’t want it?”

Connie nodded.

“But I have to do well, Steven,” she said. “Mom’s paying for this, and… and I’ve been saying all this stuff about doing well and politics and… and…”

She ran her hands through her hair.

“This is so different from what I thought it would be,” she sighed.

“Well, most of the politics you’ve dealt with is Gem politics, right?” said Steven. “When it comes to that, you’re the most experienced human there’s ever been.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” said Connie.

“I know,” nodded Steven. “I…”

He rubbed his temples.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have the answer to this, I…”

“No, Steven, you shouldn’t,” said Connie. “This… I’m the only one who can work this out.”

Steven offered her a smile.

“You know what?” he said. “I reckon your mom would say the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you made it so far,” said Steven. “And you’ve still got so far to go. So what if you change your subjects, or you decide to do something different with your life. Do you think your mom is gonna hate you just because you dropped a class?”

“I…”

“Whatever you do, you’re gonna make her proud. You’re gonna make me proud. And better than that, you’re gonna make yourself proud.”

Connie blinked - then she chuckled, running her wrist over her eyes.

“You know what’s funny?” she asked. “If I ever made it in politics, I was gonna make you my speechwriter.”

Steven giggled, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence…”

“Hey, lovebirds.”

They turned around. Buck stood next to them, holding his keys in his hand.

“We’re going on a midnight roadtrip. You in?”


End file.
